


Later

by willowoak_walker



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:33:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4167816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowoak_walker/pseuds/willowoak_walker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Big Bang Job, Sophie tracks Eliot down to talk to him about things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Later

He was half-way through his morning warm-ups before Sophie interrupted him. She walked into the tiny clearing he was filling with his motion and coughed. Eliot finished his kata at the same tempo he’d begun it, and turned to her. She tossed him a towel. He caught it easily, and wrapped it over his shoulders. He wasn’t sweating heavily, but if he had to be still for too long he’d get cold. He picked up his water-bottle and watched Sophie over it as he drank.  


“He’ll be fine,” she said at last.  


“Who?” Eliot said. He lowered his water-bottle and met her eyes.  


“Hardison,” Sophie said. Ah.  


“I wasn’t worried,” Eliot said, and it was almost not a lie.  


“You weren’t?” Sophie asked. She walked toward him, put her hand on his shoulder. “Not even a little?”  


“He’s not injured,” Eliot said. “He already is fine.”  


“Ah,” Sophie breathed. “Perhaps I should have said, ‘You’ll be fine.’” Eliot looked at her sharply. Narrowed his eyes. Glared. “The two of you. Hardison is just having trouble believing you care about him right now.”  


Eliot swallowed the first answer that rose to his tongue. _I don’t._ It tasted like dust and ashes. Like failure, like defeat. Like a lie. He looked away, scanning the area. For safety and out of habit, yes, but also to stall. There wasn’t anything there that shouldn’t be. Sophie was waiting. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to con him or if that was just what her face looked like.  


“I couldn’t have pulled him out,” Eliot says. It hurts. That admission. He failed. His job is to protect them, and he failed. Thirty seconds longer, and Hardison wouldn’t have been able to unlock the handcuffs. Eliot would have had to chance Moreau’s risky temper by jumping in. The water would have been no defense at all against the guns. Too many guns. Too far away.  


It took Eliot a moment to realize that kneeling on the ground and panting wasn’t actually a natural part of the conversation. He fell forward, catching himself with hands gone suddenly clumsy. The towel fell around his face. He could hear Sophie saying something, slow and distorted in the distance. His own breath was loud and irregular in his ears. He tried to steady it.  


Someone was touching his back. He twisted violently away, putting his back against a tree. Sophie knelt in front of him. Her eyes were wide, surprised and horrified. Eliot tried to steady his breathing through his gritted teeth. This was a panic attack, that was all. His heart pounded desperately, as if it were trying to crack his ribs and burst from his chest. Sophie reached out toward him. She had him trapped against the tree. Eliot shook his head violently. His hair stung his face and got into his eyes.  
Sophie took her hand back. She sat down in front of him, folding her legs. Eliot breathed deeply. In through the nose, out through the mouth. _It_ was going to come find him. He knew it. Sophie began to count quietly.  


“In, one, two, three,” she said, “Out, one, two, three.” Eliot tried to match his breathing to her count. It got easier as she kept going. He thought about his breathing, not about _it_. His heart rate slowed, a little. Sophie was still counting. Slowly, patiently. “In, one, two, three, out, one, two, three, in, one, …” It occurred to Eliot, eventually, that he should be embarrassed. He got his breathing under control with an effort. Steadied himself.  


“I’m sorry.” Sophie blinked at him, and stopped counting.  


“Sorry for what?” Sophie asked.  


“Making you watch that,” Eliot said, and stood up. He offered her a hand.  


“You don’t need to be sorry about that,” she said, and accepted his help standing, “We take care of each other. We’re a team.” Eliot shrugged. 

“Eliot, you don’t have to be strong all the time.” Sophie reached out, and cupped his face. “You can let us see when you’re unhappy, you know. None of us are going to think less of you.”  


Eliot ran his own hands over his face, dislodging Sophie’s. “It’s — uh,” he sighed, “I should have known this was gonna happen.”  


“Known what was going to happen?” Sophie asked. Eliot gestured inarticulately around them. “Sometimes our emotions sneak up on us,” Sophie said, “Even when we think we’ve learned how to deal with them. I went away. Nate got sober. Parker broke a beer bottle. Hardison got himself kidnapped by Russians. You can’t control everything.”  


“I hate that,” Eliot said.  


“Come on,” Sophie said, and gave him his water bottle, “Let’s go home. I think we’re about due to sit on the couch and watch Hardison complain about Star Wars movies.”  
Eliot actually managed a wobbly laugh at that one.


End file.
